


whispering the sweetest words

by alnima



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Secret Admirer, Secret admirer notes in the form of shakespeare, Very very very minor Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3245789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/pseuds/alnima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think someone is trying to lure you into a sex trap using Shakespeare?” </p><p>Harry shrugs. “Maybe.” </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Zayn writes Harry anonymous love letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whispering the sweetest words

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [Tomlinshaw AU meme](http://harrylikesbondage.tumblr.com/post/76636294973/on-february-1st-nick-grimshaw-gets-a-card-that) I saw on tumblr back in November. I changed the pairing, sorry to whoever made the post :/ 
> 
> This was supposed to be for Valentine's Day, but naturally I can't get anything completed on time, so here it is, fashionably late. 
> 
> All italicized passages are quotes from Shakespeare's plays, sonnets, or in one case, a full sonnet. I don't take any credit for those, obviously all credit goes to Shakespeare. And thank you to Kitty for helping me come up with the idea of using Shakespeare, and to Jen for the beta and encouraging when I was worried this was shit.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know or own anyone. This work is my own and it is not featured on any other site, nor does anyone have my permission to repost it in its entirety. Thank you!!!

Harry stares at the card in his hand, reading the address over again. It’s the third time he’s done it since he pulled up in front of the restaurant, because he doesn’t want to get this wrong. Or like, maybe whoever wrote the note, this love letter of sorts, has changed their mind.

Maybe they’re not love letters at all; maybe they’re attempts at embarrassing Harry. Maybe it’s someone trying to make a fool out of him, wanting him to feel something, only to snatch it away, and on Valentine’s Day of all days.

Harry feels nauseous. He was excited, hopeful, even, to finally figure out who has been sending him these letters but now. Harry bites his lip, clutching desperately at the piece of paper in his hand.

No one would want to do this to him, Harry tells himself, taking another deep breath. He’s kind, generous, fair, and a generally good person, at least according to Liam. That’s all Harry can remember him saying, maybe he should call him and find out what else he is, if anything. No, Harry thinks, shaking his head. He won’t ruin Liam’s night with his whining.

“I could ruin Niall’s,” he says, to no one in particular since he’s still sitting in his car alone.

And it’s true, he could ruin Niall’s night. He said something about staying in, celebrating being single by… Harry can’t remember. But the point is that Niall isn’t doing anything. He doesn’t have anyone to spend today with, not like he cared, but he could be spending it with Harry, maybe setting fire to the stack of letters in the seat next to him.

Harry’s stomach churns at the thought.

No, he won’t set the letters on fire. Those letters represent someone’s feelings, someone’s heart. They represent someone being brave and opening up. Even if they’re not signed with a name and Harry has no clue who is waiting for him, they’re still symbolic of someone. And they made Harry feel special, important. Cared for, he thinks, biting his lip as he stares at the envelopes. He’s not sure why he brought them, but he thinks that he gets it now; he brought them as a reminder of why he’s here.

He sets the final letter down, resting it on his dashboard gently before he grabs the others. He’s going to read them again, start with the first and work his way untilthe end. By the time he’s finished, he’ll get out of his car, and he’ll meet whoever has been admiring him secretly- his secret admirer.

♥♥♥

The first letter comes on Harry’s birthday.

His day starts off normal enough. He drags himself out of bed, waking up to find Niall behind the stove, apron on, making Harry pancakes. They’re chocolate chip, and covered in a mound of whipped cream.

Harry’s stomach churns pleasantly at the sight.

“Are those for me?” He asks, leaning against the counter and batting his eyelashes at Niall.

“Of course they are,” Niall tells him, eyes never leaving the stove.

Harry takes his plate and sighs. “And why would you ever want to make pancakes for me? On a Sunday of all days?”

Niall finally turns to look at him, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “Because Louis told me he’d kick my ass if I didn’t do something special for your birthday.”

Harry pouts, because he honestly thought this was coming from Niall’s heart. They’ll probably not taste as good now that he knows they’re coming from Louis’ heart but Niall’s hands.

Niall laughs at him, shaking his head.

“Are you lying?”

Niall nods. “Course I am, you think I’d listen to Lou?” Harry shakes his head, curls bouncing. “Exactly, now eat your damn pancakes.”

Harry grins, and he hopes it’s obnoxious, but he does what he’s told, going to sit at their little table to eat. The food is delicious and it’s the best way to start his morning, he can’t imagine having anything else. He tells Niall as much and Niall snorts, sliding into the chair next to him.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do today?” Niall asks around a mouthful of food, quickly followed by, “Oh fuck, this is good. I’m good.”

“You’re amazing,” Harry says, swallowing. “And we’re going out later, I think. Like for dinner.” They went out already on Friday night, because Liam had to work on Saturday and Louis wanted to spend the day pining that he couldn’t see his boyfriend. “I’ve got to study a bit, though, like, after this.”

“You’re shit,” Niall says, shaking his head. “No one studies on their birthday.”

“They do if they have an exam the next day.”

“If they hate themselves, you mean.”

“If they care about not flunking out of school, you mean.”

Niall shrugs.

“That’s why I’m not studying here,” Harry tells him primly, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re uncivilized and it’s going to distract me from my studies.” Niall snorts and Harry glares, flinging a bit of whipped cream at him.

♥♥♥

The place that Harry doesdecide to study at is a little coffee shop off campus. It’s directly in the center, right between Harry’s apartment and school. And it’s usually quiet, something he can’t find unless he goes to the library, which okay. That’s actually quiet and probably where he should be studying, but it’s almost too quiet, for Harry at least. And no one bothers him when he’s here. And he’s still surrounded by people.

It’s the best place, really. Harry doesn’t need to argue that point. People should just know that, like Harry does.

When he walks inside, a hanging streamer assaults him. Lots of them. Everywhere. It’s never like this, usually, but then Harry remembers that it is February, so of course they’re going to decorate for Valentine’s Day. Red and pink streamers, hearts and balloons. It’s nauseating. Harry’s just going to pretend they’re for him, for his birthday.

Behind the counter is his favorite barista. The pretty one. “Hi, Zayn,” Harry says, resting his head in his hands, grinning. “Do you know what today is?”

Zayn looks at him, eyebrow raised as he gets started on Harry’s drink. That’s another thing that’s so great about this place, they know what Harry wants, what he likes to order. He doesn’t even have to tell them, just walk in and they know.

“The first of February,” Zayn recites, like he’s already answered this question a couple times today.

“No, I meant, like. Do you know what today is?”

“Sunday?” Zayn says, in the form of a question, frowning.

Harry sighs. “Today on this lovely Sunday, the first of February, it’s my birthday.”

“Ah,” Zayn says, grinning, stepping out from behind all the machines, Harry doesn’t know what they’re called. “Well, then. Happy birthday.” He passes Harry his cup, which Harry takes gratefully, sliding his money across the counter.

Harry thanks him and smiles, rushing off when the customer behind him clears their throat. He obviously didn’t hear the part about it being Harry’s birthday; otherwise he wouldn’t be as rude as he is. Maybe, Harry thinks, shrugging and drops into the plush armchair tucked away in the corner, the one away from any windows. Harry will get distracted by things taking place on the street if he sits too close to them; he’s learned this from experience.

Eventually, it’s not a distraction that tears Harry away from his homework, but rather boredom. He’s bored, out of his mind with it. He’s read the same line in his notes four times, and he’s tapping the end of his highlighter against the page.

The chair next to him scraps across the ground as someone sits down, startling Harry. He jumps, naturally, but tries to pretend like he didn’t, smoothing out his hair, shaking it out of his eyes.

“Is it all right if I sit here,” the voice says and Harry shakes his head, glancing over quickly. He does a double take, though. When he sees that it’s Zayn and he’s out of uniform, or well, he’s not wearing his apron.

“No, you can sit down,” Harry says, because Zayn can be a distraction. Harry’s not taking a break, or well he is, but he’s socializing. It’s his birthday. It’s fine. “Are you on your break?”

“Just finished, actually,” Zayn tells him. “I wanted to give you this.” And Harry finally notices the cupcake in his hand; it’s not from this particular store. It’s not in the little display box, and it’s not on the menu. Harry would know if it was. He’s here often enough. “For your birthday, I felt bad not knowing.”

“What? No. Oh, my god,” Harry says, taking the cupcake from Zayn. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad.” He really wasn’t. “I’m just an idiot. I like having attention,” he admits, biting his lip. Zayn laughs. “Thank you.”

Zayn shrugs. “Everyone deserves a little something on their birthday, so consider this my contribution.”

Harry stares down at the cupcake; it’s got pink icing with an H on the top. Zayn went to the bakery down the street, probably. He bought it especially for Harry, and it’s. It’s sweet, is the thing. Zayn’s sweet.

“Thank you,” he says again, setting the cupcake down next to his empty coffee cup. “It’s my favorite, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Zayn replies, smiling.

♥♥♥

It’s later that evening, after dinner with his friends and after he’s said good night to Niall that he finds the first letter.

He’s in his bedroom and instead of sleeping, like he should be, he decides to do some last minute studying, because he really is unprepared for this exam, even if he spent most of this morning, well into the afternoon looking over the material.

His textbook is on his desk, the one he doesn’t use except to pile things on top of. That’s why he goes to the coffee shop to study, desks are overrated. Harry doesn’t need one to actually do his work, but that’s beside the point. The point is that as Harry’s grabbing his book off his desk, an envelope falls out onto the floor.

There’s nothing about it that’s suspicious and having fallen onto the side where the address label usually is, Harry assumes it’s a bill, or a letter from his school. But when he picks it up and turns it over, it’s blank. And Harry knows that it’s not a letter or a bill, nothing that Harry would have gotten in the mail, at least.

He opens it slowly, gentle with it since he doesn’t know what it is. He finds, written on a clean sheet of white paper,

_Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_

Harry frowns at it, reading the words over and over again before he tries searching for a name. But the paper is empty, nothing besides those words written across it, directly in the center.

When he looks it up, he learns that it’s Shakespeare, taken from one of his plays. He doesn’t know what it means and he chalks it up as having acquired it by accident. The letter isn’t meant for him, but it’s for someone, and he’s not going to throw it out. It’s sweet. So Harry takes it, folds it back up gently before he places it inside the envelope again.

♥♥♥

The next day, during his lunch break, Harry finds the next letter.

It’s mid-morning, and Harry has an hour until his exam. And since he couldn’t study during his first class of the day, he decides to use his break for studying, instead of going to the coffee shop for another coffee. He really wishes that he had a coffee. He’s a little angry with himself for finishing his first one. He didn’t savor it properly.

Reaching into his bag for his textbook, Harry unearths another white envelope. It’s stuck to his book and nearly slips out of his grasp when he yanks it out of his bag.

Harry stares at the envelope, because it’s exactly like the one he found last night. Unmarked and sealed, nothing on it to give away whom it’s come from. He glances around as he opens it, hoping to find someone inspecting the floor for it, or something. Which doesn’t make sense because it was in Harry’s bag, shoved between his textbooks.

And just like the night before, there is a handwritten note in the center of the paper, written in a scratchy scrawl that says,

_Hear my soul speak:_  
_The very instant that I saw you, did_  
_My heart fly to your service._

Harry reads it once and then puts it away, glancing around to see if anyone is watching him. It feels like he might be being pranked, like maybe someone is waiting to jump out of the bushes at the school’s entrance or maybe someone with a camera, one of those ones that paparazzi use to spy on celebrities at outrageous distances away. 

Which is so utterly ridiculous that Harry forgets the thought completely after he’s shoved the envelope in his bag. It’s obviously a case of mistaken bag identity, or book identity, which is sad, because the letters are sweet, and whomever they’re meant for deserves to read them. They deserve to know that someone out there cares for them.

Harry hopes that whoever is sending these letters has been in contact with the intended recipient, at least so they can figure out that their letters have been delivered to the wrong person.

♥♥♥

Tuesday evening, two days after his first letter, Harry realizes that it’s not a case of mistaken bag identity, but rather that these are actually meant for him.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds it, tucked away in his bag just like the day before. This time he doesn’t even bother examining it to see if it’s really another love letter, instead he rips open the envelope, mindful of the letter inside, and reads,

 _Such is my love, to thee I so belong_

Harry honestly doesn’t know what that means, but he knows that it’s Shakespeare, based on the two other letters, both of which he’s shamelessly researched. But he doesn’t want to do more research, because holy shit.

Someone is writing him love letters; someone is sending him these pages of words, words that are laced with feeling. They’re someone’s feelings for Harry. And he has no idea who could be sending them.

Harry doesn’t know the handwriting. It’s not Niall’s; his is loopy and wild, easily recognizable. And it’s neither Liam’s nor Louis’, Harry says a silent ‘thank, god’ about that, because he can only imagine how that would turn out. Liam would get all sad eyed and frown-y, and would say something like how he respects Harry and Louis’ desire to love each other, and he’ll gladly step aside. Harry wouldn’t be able to handle it. And he also wouldn’t be able to handle the certain death that would follow if these turned out to be from Liam. Louis would kill them both, in the most painful way.

So he’s lucky, it’s no one he knows. But he’s also unlucky, because why can’t it be someone he knows? He’s seen a lot of romantic movies and that’s how it works. It’s someone you know, and you find out and really, there are two options. One of which is acting shocked and then hiding away until your admirer stops sending letters, and you miss them, and decide to confess your love for them in return. Because of course you love them back.

The other option, and obviously the option that Harry would do, is rushing off to find the person who wrote them. And when you find them, fling yourself on them and kiss them in the rain, because it’s always raining during love confessions. That’s how love works, at least in the movies.

But Harry has neither of those options, he has to wait, wait until the person writing them decides to show himself. If they ever do. Maybe they just want to torture Harry, make him feel loved before they snatch the letters away; cutting off communication and Harry is forced to shave his head like Liam did after one of his break ups, and come back a whole new person.

He takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. He’s getting worked up; he can feel it. And Harry knows, or at least he would hope, that no one would want to treat him that way.

Harry shakes his head, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope, because he has a feeling that this person is telling the truth, that this person cares. Or so he hopes.

♥♥♥

Niall finds the next letter, much to Harry’s dismay.

Harry’s tired is the thing. He stayed up later than he usually does on days where he has classes. And it’s all the letters fault; because Harry is impatient and whoever is writing them should know that about him, if they really want to profess their love to him. They should know that he’s eager and easily excitable. And it’s because of this that he was awake all night, well, not the whole night, but most of it, trying to figure out who the letters could be coming from.

He’s already established that they’re not from Niall, Liam, or Louis. And they’re not from Nick, he’s far too lazy and not clever enough for something like this. It’s not Caroline or Lou, and probably not anyone else, actually.

The point is that Harry was awake all night trying to figure it out but to no avail. So when he got home, he didn’t think about the letters, he thought about lying on the couch and taking a nap. Niall’s mom gave them a ton of blankets when they moved in together, because both Harry and Niall were sleeping with just a fitted sheet on the mattress and the hope that they didn’t freeze during the night. Being an adult is overrated.

So when Harry’s lying on the couch, face pressed in the cushion and Niall says, “Did you forget to label the electric bill again?” all Harry does is roll his eyes, because it was one time.

“What?” He shouts back, voice muffled because of the blanket wrapped around him. He’s cocooned inside of it, and he’s not coming out.

“This envelope,” Niall says, pausing and then, “it’s sticking out of your bag, but it’s blank. Is it one of our bills?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Hmm. I’m gonna check,” Niall mumbles and Harry nods, closing his eyes because the bills aren’t due for another week, and Harry didn’t put anything inside of any envelopes, at least not today. The only thing it could be is-

“Niall, wait,” Harry shouts, jumping up. He stumbles, tripping over the blanket, nearly falling flat on his face as he rushes towards the entrance of their apartment, where he knows that his bag is located.

Niall’s pulling the letter out of it’s envelope and Harry panics and without thinking, he dives, jumping onto Niall’s back.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Niall grunts out, stumbling. “Shit, you’re heavy. Get off me.”

“Give me that envelope.”

“Why? It’s just a bill.”

“It’s not a bill, it’s personal,” Harry grits out, trying to reach over Niall, but Niall is one step ahead of him, constantly moving and shifting so that the letter stays out of Harry’s reach at all times.

“What the hell,” Niall curses, throwing an elbow back into Harry’s ribs.

“That hurt,” Harry says, poking Niall as hard as he can. He hopes it bruises.

“So did the elbow in my eye, asshole,” Niall mutters and Harry sighs, because he’s already reading the letter.

“Well, read it aloud if you’re going to be invading my privacy this way. Come on, let’s go,” Harry says, impatient, tapping his foot against the floor.

Niall clears his throat and reads,

_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_  
_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_  
_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_  
_And summer's lease hath all too short a date:_  
_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_  
_And often is his gold complexion dimmed,_  
_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_  
_By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:_  
_But thy eternal summer shall not fade,_  
_Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,_  
_Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,_  
_When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,_  
_So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,_  
_So long lives this, and this gives life to thee._

And wow, okay. Harry actually knows this one, can pin point what it is. He doesn’t need a Google search to figure it out. His hands feel clammy all of a sudden, and he wishes Niall didn’t read this one. Or maybe that Harry could have read it on his own, because now he’s blushing, and he doesn’t know what to say. 

Niall, however, does know what to say. It starts with a snort, followed by, “Is this shit in English?”

Harry glares. “Of course it is, it’s Shakespeare.”

“I don’t think he knew what he was doing,” Niall says, shrugging as he hands the note and envelope to Harry.

“What do you mean he doesn’t know what he’s doing? He made up half of what the English language is today.” Not half, but Niall doesn’t know that. It’s okay to fib a little, to stretch the truth out.

“Name one word.”

“Assassination.” Harry thinks that’s one of them.

Niall narrows his eyes, squinting at Harry, like he’s trying to pressure him into telling the truth. But he’s not lying. Harry glares back at him, eyes wide to counteract Niall’s squinted pair, and Niall nods, seemingly satisfied with the information. “Well, I’ll be sure to write Shakespeare a thank you note next time I write a paper about Abraham Lincoln."

Harry rolls his eyes, folding the paper back up carefully.

“So what does this whole thing mean?”

“Interpretation varies from person to person,” Harry tells him, shrugging. “So it really just depends, but I think, for the most part, this one is about beauty.”

Niall nods and then laughs at Harry, shaking his head. “I was talking about the letters. What do they mean? Not content wise, but like, why do you have a poem in your bag?”

“I don’t know,” Harry lies, shrugging. Niall’s eyes narrow and Harry sighs. “I really don’t know. I started getting them on my birthday, just one a day so far. They all seem to revolve around love. I think they’re from a secret admirer.”

“All right,” Niall says, starting to walk away from Harry. And Harry gapes, because-

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Harry shouts, outraged. He expected some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction, really anything will do.

Niall shrugs once more before he saunters off. Harry watches him go before he drops his gaze down to the envelope in his hands.

♥♥♥

Harry doesn’t bother to hide the next letter; he pulls it out of his bag in front of Niall and begins reading.

_My bounty is as boundless as the sea,_  
_My love as deep; the more I give to thee,_  
_The more I have, for both are infinite._

“Is that another note from your admirer?” Niall asks standing behind the stove, making something that makes Harry’s stomach gargle. 

“Yeah.”

“What does it say?” Niall asks, so Harry reads it out loud. He puts on an accent, because it’s not as long as the one from yesterday and he wants Niall to be entertained.

“You don’t think he made any of these up himself?” Niall asks when Harry’s finished, resting against the counter to look at him properly.

Harry shakes his head. “No, they’re all from different plays and stuff. This one is from Romeo and Juliet.”

“That’s hardly romantic,” Niall snorts, muttering something under his breath.

“The play, yeah. But these words are nice, so shut up,” Harry says before he sticks his tongue out at Niall and rushes off towards his room.

It’s nice being able to share this with someone, but he wants someone to know about this that understands. Someone who can see the appeal in getting letters like this, not someone who mocks them and makes Harry feel childish for being excited about them. 

Harry sighs as he drops down onto his bed, tucking the envelope into his bedside drawer with the others.

♥♥♥

The envelope is at the bottom of his bag, and Harry dumps the contents of it on his bed, because he’s impatient, and he wants to read the damn thing. He tears it open, letting the envelope drop down to the floor, forgotten at his feet.

_O learn to read what silent love hath writ!  
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. _

Harry reads over the words once more before he clutches the paper to his chest, sighing. He doesn’t know what to make of these letters. Or what to make of the way his stomach clenches and flutters as he reads the words written on the page. It’s admirable and Harry feels…something about them. He’s not sure what it is, or how to describe it other than maybe admiration? Possibly.

They enamor him, by the thought and work that went into this. Someone took time out of his or her life to sit down and find these quotes, to put them on paper for Harry. Just for Harry, not for anyone else.

He’s staring at the paper when his bedroom door swings open, Louis bounding into his room with a purpose. And it must be the way Harry’s eyes widen as he quickly scrambles to hide the note that causes Louis’ interest to peak, because Louis sees the paper in Harry’s hand and dives for it. Harry turns before he can grab it, pressing it to his chest.

“Louis, stop.”

“What are you hiding, Harry?” Louis asks, trying to pry Harry’s hands away from the paper and his body. And Louis must be working out with Liam because he’s obnoxiously strong right now, among other things. “Did you order porn again?”

“No, it’s private. Get off me,” Harry says, throwing an elbow back into Louis’ ribs.

“Ow,” Louis mutters, poking him back. And fuck, because now Louis is tickling him and Harry spasms, loosening his grip on the letter to shove Louis away and that’s when Louis grabs it, shoving Harry once more but it’s too late. Harry knows that he’s reading it. “What is this shit?”

Harry glares at him, snatching the note back as Louis holds it out, inquiring. “You fucking crumbled it, Louis,” Harry scolds. He loves Louis, he really does. He’s one of his best friends, but right now, he wants to shove him out of his room, because Louis doesn’t have boundaries and sometimes he doesn’t know when enough is enough. “Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Comes Niall’s voice, his head peeking into the doorway.

“Harry’s hiding things,” Louis accuses, turning to look at Niall.

“Louis is being dick.”

“I don’t like secrets.”

“It’s none of your business,” Harry spits out, shoving the note into his bedside drawer. He huffs out a breath and then turns to look at Louis once more. “Is there a reason you’re here? Or like, did you just want someone to annoy?”

“Liam and I came to see what you two fuckers were doing,” Louis says, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry that I wrinkled your paper, but if you’re going to be a prick all night, we’ll leave.”

“Did we miss something?” This time it’s Liam and he’s looking between his boyfriend and Harry cautiously. And Harry knows the caution is not because he’s worried about the content of their conversation, but rather if he has to risk pissing Louis off by siding with Harry, or hurting Harry’s feelings by sticking up for Louis. Liam is a little scary when he’s upset about something, especially when it has to do with someone bothering Louis. He tones it down for Harry and Niall, but it still scares Harry sometimes, he’s seen how he can get, even if he knows he’ll never be at the end of that anger. 

Harry sighs, because he really can’t ever stay angry. It’s not Louis’ fault. He didn’t know. He’s still mad, really, but it’s a stupid thing to be upset about. And Louis apologized, kind of. “I have a secret admirer.”

“What?” Louis and Liam say in unison, raising their eyebrows.

Louis moves to sit on Harry’s bed, legs folded. Once he’s properly sat down he says, “All right, explain to us what you’re talking about.”

“They started on my birthday. I found an envelope and like, I thought maybe it was for someone else. And then I got one the day after and the next day, and that’s when I realized that it probably wasn’t an accident but that they were actually for me,” Harry explains, shrugging.

“So someone is sending you poems to tell you that they love you?” Liam asks.

“They’re Shakespeare,” Niall supplies, nodding proudly, like he figured that bit out on his own and he didn’t accuse Shakespeare of not knowing English.

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, like, sometimes they’re snippets of plays. I got a sonnet the other day, the whole thing, not just a quote,” Harry says, sitting down next to Louis.

“And you don’t know who they’re from?” Louis asks him and Harry shakes his head. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“Yeah, but it’s also sweet, you know. I mean. I obviously know the person, whoever it is. And like, they end up in my bag at some point during the day, so it’s probably someone from school.”

“It’s still weird,” Louis says, shrugging unapologetically. “I mean, they don’t even know you, and don’t try and argue that they do. They don’t and they’re shoving these letters in your bag? Probably following you around, waiting for the right time to sneak them inside of it. What if they’re crawling through your bedroom window?”

Niall snorts. “We live on the fourth floor.”

“The notes are always in my bag before I get home, never after,” Harry tells him.

“Maybe its Spiderman giving you these things, scaling the building instead of fighting crime,” Niall continues, ignoring Harry completely. “Louis, you talk some shit, man.”

“All right, let’s pretend that Harry does know the person writing them,” Liam says, cutting Louis off. “Pretend, because no one knows. Who do you see every day?”

“Niall,” Harry blurts, shrugging when Liam gives him a look. “It’s true.”

“Give us a rundown of your day, like, your schedule or whatever.”

“I wake up here; stop by the coffee shop before class-”

“Who do you talk to at the coffee shop?” Louis asks, cutting him off.

“No one really, just whoever is taking my order,” Harry replies, shrugging. “Usually it’s Zayn, though.”

“Maybe it’s him,” Niall says.

Harry shakes his head, because no. “No, it’s not him.”

“How do you know?” Louis scoffs.

“If you knew Zayn you’d know that it’s not him. He’s hot, for one thing. Like, ridiculously good-looking. And he’s cool, like smooth. Sauvé,” Harry supplies, because that’s Zayn. Harry talks to him every day, little snippets of conversation every morning while Zayn makes him his coffee and sometimes during Harry’s lunch break if he doesn’t want to eat on campus but doesn’t want to walk home. He knows Zayn, not a whole lot, but enough. “It’s just not him.”

“All right, then what else do you do?”

“I go to class, and like, there are a lot of people that I talk to. Almost everyone, really,” Harry tells them, because it’s true.

“Anyone interesting?” Niall asks, inspecting his nails, almost like he’s bored with this conversation. Harry doesn’t blame him. He wishes it were over too.

Harry shakes his head and Liam sighs.

“Well, that was a bust,” he mutters under his breath.

“It’s still disturbing,” Louis says and when Harry glares at him, he shrugs. And Harry decides that he doesn’t really care about his opinion.

“I’m sorry that not everyone is a pushy little shit when it comes to making someone else have feelings for them,” Harry grumbles, angrily. “Whoever is sending these, they’re obviously shy. And it’s not hurting anyone. I’m fine with it. I like getting them. I enjoy knowing that someone is thinking about me and wants me to know it. You think they’re creepy, that’s fine, but shut up about it, okay?”

“I just don’t want you to get your heart set on something, on someone that you don’t know, only to find out that they’re some fucking lunatic, okay? People are fucking awful and stalkers do this shit,”Louis tells him, his gaze hard as he looks at Harry. “I won’t tell you what I think anymore, okay? If you like them, that’s fine, and I’m sorry, I really am, if I hurt your feelings. But I’m not going to stop worrying that maybe the person behind them isn’t great, I just won’t tell you.”

“Fine,” Harry shouts, folding his arms over his chest.

Across the room, Liam and Niall sigh in unison.

“I need a fucking drink,” Niall says, walking out of the room.

“I think we all need a drink,” Liam states, motioning with his head for Louis and Harry to come on. He wraps an arm around Louis' shoulder when he reaches him and offers a small smile to Harry, which does nothing to comfort him, only makes him glare harder. He understands his friends are looking out for him, he just wishes they wouldn’t make him feel so awful about enjoying something.

♥♥♥

Harry goes to the coffee shop the next day after running a day of errands and stopping by the school library to gather books for a research paper. There’s a letter in his bag when he sits down, placed at the very top. He has so many books inside of it that he’s surprised there was even room for a letter, no matter how thin it is.

Harry doesn’t know if he wants to open it. He’s staring at it, coffee cup forgotten on the table in front of him as he scans the envelope thoughtfully. He can’t help but remember what Louis said to him. He thought about it and he gets it, what Louis said. It’s true Harry doesn’t know who is writing these, and it could all be some elaborate plan to hurt him, maybe not emotionally but physically.

The world is a fucked up place and Harry doesn’t want to fall prey to that just because he’s a hopeless romantic.

And as much as he understands where Louis was coming from, he can’t help but feel bitter about the fact that Louis ruined this for him.

Harry glances up from the envelope when he hears a plate sliding across the table. There’s a cookie on it, chocolate chip, and finds that the hand shoving it over towards him belongs to Zayn. He’s smiling at him, his face thoughtful.

“What’s this for?” Harry asks, motioning towards the cookie. He didn’t ask for one when he ordered his coffee, he doesn’t think he did at least.

“You looked a bit upset, thought I might bring you something to cheer you up.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, smiling. Its thoughtful and considerate, an action that Zayn didn’t need to do. Harry appreciates it.

“Would it be overstepping my barista boundaries if I asked what was bothering you? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

Harry looks at Zayn for a moment as he thinks, as he considers his options. On one hand, it’s really none of Zayn’s business. It’s not a big deal if he were to know, not really anyway, But Harry doesn’t need another person in his life passing judgment on him for this, or making him feel like shit about it. But on the other hand it might be nice to hear from someone who doesn’t really know him all that much, who doesn’t have anything to gain from telling Harry anything but the truth.

He likes the second option more, so he raises the envelope in his hand, showing it off.

“Ah, thought so,” Zayn says, nodding his head. “Are you worried about what’s inside of it?”

“No, I have a fairly positive idea what it is.”

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“A bit of Shakespeare.”

“I see,” Zayn says his eyes squinted as he nods, clearly not understanding why Harry is so upset. “Shakespeare can be rather ominous when you’re not really familiar with his works.”

“It’s a love letter,” Harry blurts out and then he bites his lip, frowning. “It’s from an admirer, someone that has a crush on me, I guess. They’ve been sending them to me for about a week now, and they’re sweet. They really are, like, just the whole idea behind it all. And I guess the words inside of them too, even though half the time I’m just guessing what they mean.”

“Most people do with Shakespeare.”

“It’s not Shakespeare that’s the problem. It’s,” Harry pauses, taking a deep breath. He breaks off a piece of the cookie and eats it. He needs a moment, because he’s about to tell another person about these letters and so far only Niall has been understanding of it all or at least Harry thinks so. Niall didn’t really say anything come to think of it.

Harry swallows the cookie and continues, “My friend Louis, he kind of pointed out how creepy these letters are. Like, he just kept saying how this world is full of bad people and maybe someone is trying to lure me into some kind of trap. He didn’t say what kind, but like, I bet it’s a sex trap.”

“You think someone is trying to lure you into a sex trap using Shakespeare?”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe.”

Zayn’s eyes widen for a moment but he shakes it off, repositioning himself so he’s leaning towards Harry. “I’m not sure if I’m the bearer of bad news or not, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening in this case. Not to say it’s never happened before or it might not ever happen, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening with you.”

“So you don’t agree with Louis?”

“I don’t, no,” Zayn tells him, shaking his head. “Is there something inside of that envelope that made you agree with Louis? Is that why you’re upset?”

“No, I haven’t even opened this one yet,” Harry states, looking down at the envelope.

“Well, open it,” Zayn instructs.

Harry sighs, his hands shaking as he opens the letter and reads,

 _What made me love thee? let that persuade thee_  
_there's something extraordinary in thee. I cannot: but I love thee; none_  
_but thee; and thou deservest it._  

“Do you think that’s creepy?” Harry asks, looking at Zayn through his lashes, scared to make direct eye contact with him.

“Are you asking because you think that it’s weird? Or are you curious of my opinion because you don’t?”

“I don’t know what to think about them.”

“Is this because of your friend? Louis?” Harry nods and Zayn sighs. “It’s not creepy, Harry. And it’s not wrong to think they’re sweet, or whatever. It’s also not wrong to think that there is something wrong with getting these letters, though.”

“It’s not even a little bit disturbing to you?”

Zayn shrugs. “I can see how he sees that, your friend. And I guess everyone’s opinion is different, but you seem to be enjoying them, so why let Louis take that away from you?”

“I guess you’re right,” Harry sighs, folding the letter back up carefully.

“You don’t seem entirely convinced of that.”

“No, I am. I’m just wondering, you know, like, why this person won’t come clean and tell me who they are?”

“Maybe they’re afraid,” Zayn reasons. “It’s a scary thing to tell someone your feelings for them. People in relationships have the same struggle, you know?”

“Maybe,” Harry mumbles, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe whoever is writing these doesn’t like me as much as he thinks he does. Maybe he’s just trying to gauge my reaction to his potential feelings just to see if I’m worth it.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone would do that to you, Harry.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Harry sighs, shoulders sagging.

“Listen, I have to get back to my shift, my breaks over,” Zayn mutters apologetically and he looks like he means it, like he wants to stay until Harry feels better. “Don’t be too upset about this. They’re meant to convey a message; something that whoever is writing them is too shy to share. And yeah, maybe they’re gauging your reaction, but maybe they’re also trying to give themselves a chance, you know?”

“Why do you think that?”

Zayn looks at him, smiling. “Just trust me on this one, okay?”

♥♥♥

Harry rushes into the coffee shop, grin on his face and letter in his hand.

“Zayn,” Harry shouts when he’s inside, frowning when patrons turn to look at him. He glances around frantically, because he needs to talk to him.

“Is something the matter?” comes a voice to Harry’s left and it’s Zayn, wiping down the tables in front of the window. “Did you run here?”

Harry nods, still smiling, even if he is a bit out of a breath. “I think I know him.”

“Who?” Zayn asks, glancing around.

“The person writing my letters. I think that I know them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Listen to this,” Harry says, glancing back down at the page in his hand to read,

 _Doubt thou the stars are fire_ ,  
_Doubt that the sun doth move_ ,  
_Doubt truth to be a liar_ ,  
_But never doubt I love_.

“Doesn’t that sound like I know him? I mean, not the words, obviously, but the context. I was just telling you yesterday about my doubts and then today I get this,” Harry exclaims, shaking the paper in his hand so it rattles a bit, crinkling in his hand. “I still don’t know who it is, but I have to know him. I mean, I told you about it. And I talked to Niall, my roommate. Do you remember him?”

“Kind of,” Zayn replies, looking at Harry like he’s crazy. And maybe he is. He did run from his apartment to the coffee shop an hour before it closes to tell Zayn about a note from his secret admirer.

“I told him about my insecurities and my doubts, said that I thought maybe this admirer of mine was stringing me along, but then I get this,” Harry shakes the paper again, like its evidence in a courtroom. “Maybe it’s because it’s been a week, so like, that’s probably when people start doubting this stuff. I don’t know. Isn’t it crazy?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing how someone could know that, almost like you told him yourself.”

“I know,” Harry agrees, finally folding the letter back up. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said; how I shouldn’t let what Louis said ruin this for me. You were right. Louis was too, but.” Harry shrugs and Zayn smiles, nodding his head.

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

♥♥♥

Harry finds the next letter by accident as he’s trying to pay for his coffee.

It’s nearly closing time and Harry needs the little boost of caffeine before he starts his research. His body is craving it, practically begging him for it. Zayn is working, luckily enough. Harry wonders if he does anything besides work, but the thought is fleeting as Zayn slides his coffee across the counter towards him. Harry’s mouth waters at the sight and he nearly forgets to pay until Zayn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Right, sorry,” Harry mutters, flipping open his bag and digging around for his wallet. He usually only carries his bag when he’s at school or carrying around books, but lately it feels like a habit. “Here you ar-” Harry stops short when he sees the white envelope.

“Is everything all right? It’s okay if you don’t have enough to pay for it. I can cover what you can’t,” Zayn tells him.

Harry shakes his head, passing Zayn a bill before he pulls out the envelope.

“Ah,” Zayn says, nodding. “So what does this one say?”

_You have witchcraft in your lips._

“Hmm, this one is rather short,” Harry says when he’s finished reading, glancing up from the paper to look at Zayn. He frowns for a moment, thinking. “Do you think it’s someone I’ve kissed before?”

Zayn shakes his head and turns, going back to cleaning off the countertops. “I don’t think so.”

“But how would someone know what my lips are like if they’ve not touched them?”

“I’d imagine that it’s fairly easy to draw up some kind of comparison just by looking at them,” Zayn mutters, still not looking at Harry. “In the play, Henry V, he says that after he kisses the woman, so I can see why you’d come up with that conclusion, but I don’t think it’s an old flame writing these.”

“But how do you know?”

“How do you know it is?”

“I don’t.”

“Exactly, you don’t know,” Zayn says, shrugging, looking at Harry before he begins flipping chairs onto the table. “Can you help me with this? We’ve just got to put these all up.”

“Yeah of course,” Harry says, shoving the letter into his bag and letting it drop down on the ground. “So you really don’t think it’s someone that I know?”

“I never said that, I said that it’s not someone you’ve kissed before,” Zayn states firmly and he looks at Harry for a minute before he turns, getting back to work.

They work in silence, Harry helping Zayn with his closing duties and getting the final customers out. It’s nearly fifteen minutes of silence until Zayn’s locking the doors, keys swinging around on his finger, and Harry doesn’t know what to say, because they’ve been quiet for so long, and he doesn’t want to bring up the letter again, Zayn kind of shut down that topic earlier when he turned his back on Harry.

“I’ll walk you home,” Zayn says, setting off in the direction of Harry’s apartment. Harry doesn’t ask how he knows which it is, because Zayn’s only seen him come from two directions, and since the university is the other way, it’s not that hard to figure out.

“I’m sorry if I upset you somehow with what I said about the letter,” Harry mutters, staring at the ground, watching his feet as they move across pavement. “It was an accident.”

“What are you talking about?” Zayn asks him, confused.

“Earlier, you seemed upset,” Harry clarifies, glancing over towards Zayn.

Zayn is shaking his head, smiling at Harry. “I wasn’t upset.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Good,” Harry says, nodding his head. “You’re the only person I can really talk to about this stuff, the letters. You’re the only person who doesn’t judge me, or at least it doesn’t feel like you are.”

“I’m not.”

“My roommate, he’s been single for so long that he doesn’t really blink an eye at love sometimes. And then my friend Louis, I know I told you, but he’s kind of an ass about it. His boyfriend hasn’t said anything, but I know he agrees with Louis, he’s just too kind to say it,” Harry sighs, biting his bottom lip. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and he doesn’t know what he would have done if Zayn had told him he didn’t care or that he didn’t want to hear it anymore.

“They’re just looking out for you, your friends. And it seems like your one friend, Louis, is fairly outspoken so maybe he doesn’t understand the need to hide your feelings,” Zayn reasons.

Harry laughs, smiling. “You have no idea,” he mumbles, thinking back on when Louis was pursuing Liam.

♥♥♥

_One half of me is yours, the other half yours,_  
_Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,_  
_And so all yours._

“How can he even mean that?” Harry asks, taking the paper back from Zayn. “How could someone that probably doesn’t know me mean something like this? How is that possible that he loves me?”

“You think this means that he loves you?”

Harry’s eyes widen, silently trying to convey the duh. “They all talk about love. Love, love, love. That’s it.”

Zayn nods and shrugs, lifting up his coffee to take a sip. “Yeah, but they’re not his words, whoever is sending you these. They’re Shakespeare’s, and even then, unless they come from one of his sonnets, they’re not even Shakespeare’s. They’re his characters, these people he created.”

“And they used them to talk about love, right?”

“But that doesn’t mean he loves you because the words are just words, feelings, and that’s what they mean. They’re feelings. They’re his feelings, how he chooses to share them,” Zayn tells him, taking another sip of his coffee. After he swallows he picks back up and adds, “It’s like, the person behind them doesn’t trust his own words, so he’s leaving it up to Shakespeare, trusting him and his characters to let you know how he feels.”

Harry nods, because it makes sense. Of course it does. Zayn understands this whole thing better than Harry does. He understands Shakespeare and feelings, getting those feelings across, and how it doesn’t matter what the clear intent of the words was; everyone is going to receive them different. People absorb words differently and maybe it’s not how the writer intended, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

The only thing Zayn said that Harry can’t get past is-

“Why does everyone assume it’s a boy?” He asks, looking at Zayn thoughtfully.

Zayn shrugs and says, “I guess because that’s my gender.”

“Well yeah, but it could easily be a girl. It’s not fair to just assume that we know who is writing these. And maybe it’s not a girl or a boy, maybe they don’t even know,” Harry says, because who actually knows who is the mystery person behind the paper? “It could be anyone.”

Zayn sighs, picking at the sleeve of his coffee cup. “Yeah, I guess it could.”

♥♥♥

Harry shows up to the coffee shop again the next day, just before closing, and he finds Zayn tucked in an arm chair in the corner, legs pulling underneath his body and book in his hand. He’s tapping a pen on his knee as his eyes scan the pages. Harry watches him for a moment before he goes to get a drink, resigned to the fact that Zayn still hasn’t seen him.

But after he gets his drink, he goes to join him, dropping down into the chair next to him. Zayn still hasn’t noticed and Harry chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. He leans over and

“Are you reading Shakespeare?”

Zayn jumps, pen slipping out of his grasp and dropping down on the ground with a clatter. “Jesus, you startled me.”

“I can tell,” Harry says, amused, leaning down to grab the pen for Zayn. “But is that what you’re reading?”

“Yeah, it’s for an assignment,” Zayn tells him, closing the book and dropping it down in the bag beside him. “Didn’t you already get a coffee this morning?”

Harry grins over the rim of his cup before he takes a drink from it, shrugging. “This is a hot chocolate.”

“Ah, so you just wanted to waste your money pretending that you actually got a coffee. Or is it getting chilly outside?” Zayn asks, frowning. He doesn’t have a coat, not one that would be warm enough if there was a sudden drop in temperature.

“Chillier than freezing? No.”

“That’s a fair point,” Zayn mutters, glancing around for a second before he turns back to look at Harry, his mouth opening before he closes it, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you were going to say something. What was it?”

“It wasn’t anything.”

Harry gives him an unimpressed look. “If you want to say something, then just say it. Unless it’s really awful, then maybe don’t. Is it really awful?”

“No,” Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get out of here. They’re about to start clean up and I don’t want to get roped into helping because I’m still here.”

“Can they do that?”

Zayn shrugs. “It doesn’t really stop them either way.”

“Hmm, well yeah, I’d like to get out of here,” Harry says, standing quickly. “Where is it that we’re going?”

“We can go back to my place,” Zayn tells him, sliding effortlessly into his jacket and tossing his bag over his shoulder. He makes it look cool, annoyingly. Everything Zayn does has this grace to it, this feeling like he has to put no effort in because it’s always going to work out and come out perfectly. Not like Harry, Harry has to concentrate on everything he does. And he has to try, really, really hard just to get sometimes below average results. Like walking. He’s a terrible walker, always tripping over his feet.

“Which way?” Harry asks when they’ve stopped outside and Zayn motions for Harry to follow him, turning the direction that leads to Harry’s school and Harry frowns, because Zayn walked him home last night and they walked the complete opposite direction. And why would Zayn do that? Why would he waste so much time just to see Harry home? When he lives—Harry frowns as Zayn unlocks a door just a few steps away from the coffee shop. Apparently Zayn lives directly above it, in a tiny little studio apartment with nothing but a wall blocking his bed from view, if you take two steps to the left. However, Harry is standing directly at the door and he can still see it. He can see it all.

Zayn’s apartment is cluttered, but not like the bits of Liam and Louis’ apartment that Louis has taken hostage. There are books open on the table just in front of the door, papers scattered on the coffee table in the kitchen. It’s in an intellectual clutter, if Harry had to try and name it. It’s nothing at all like his apartment. He and Niall keep it clean, oddly enough. The mess usually comes around finals, when both of them are too busy to care that there are clothes in the kitchen where Niall stripped down as he made a sandwich before collapsing on the couch for ten minutes of silence before he started studying again.

Zayn’s apartment feels like an inside clue into Zayn’s mind. Like Harry’s seeing him stripped open and bare, all of his inner workings unfolded and thrown out across the tiny space of this apartment.

“Sorry for the mess,” Zayn mumbles, picking up odd things and shoving them into drawers or placing them on the bookcase, probably setting things back where they belong instead of just trying to hide them like any other person would do. “I’m working on that uh, entrance shit you have to for your college apps, so there’s been a lot of research involved and unfortunately that leaves the place a mess.”

“You live above the coffee shop?” Harry asks, because he really can’t get over that bit of information.

“Guilty,” Zayn shrugs, motioning towards the couch. “Have a seat. I’d offer you a drink but you’ve already got one. I’m going to go change shirts, this one smells like work.”

Harry nods and steps further into the living space, dropping down onto the little couch shoved against the wall with a black sheet draped over it. “You walked me home last night,” Harry states, staring at the wall that he knows Zayn is behind.

“I did, yeah.”

“It was out of your way.”

“I figured it would be, anything is technically out of my way when I leave work.”

“But why would you do that?” Harry asks, staring at Zayn when he finally steps back into the- Is it considered another room when there isn’t a door and four walls around both of them?

Zayn shrugs, moving swiftly across the room to drop down next to Harry, their knees knocking together briefly. “I didn’t feel like going home straight away.” He shrugs again like it’s all the explanation that he can give. Harry nods, biting his lip and staring down at the table in front of them where some books are still open.

“You said that you’re filling out applications, does that mean that you’re not going to the university?”

“Not yet. I fucked around a bit in my last year of high school, didn’t care as much about the deadlines as I should have,” he explains, sighing and adjusting his position so that he’s facing Harry, arm slung over the back of the couch. “Then my family hit a rough patch and school just wasn’t in the cards at the time. I started working, talked to the owner about getting this place, and I’ve been saving for school for the past couple years. I figure now is the time to go.”

Harry nods his head in understanding. He had wanted to take a year off and travel around, didn’t want to start school right away, but his mom put her foot down, told him that he was going otherwise he’d never go. He thinks she might have been right, in a way.

“You haven’t mentioned your admirer today,” Zayn says when Harry doesn’t immediately say anything. “Did you not get one?”

“No I did,” Harry says and then he shrugs, shifting around so he’s facing Zayn properly, taking another sip of his hot chocolate before he sets the cup down on Zayn’s table.

“Did you already open it?”

Harry shakes his head. “I wanted to open it earlier but then I decided to wait. I feel like I’m always reading them as soon as I know that I have them, so I wanted to wait.”

Zayn nods, thoughtful for a moment. “Is there a reason behind that? Or. I don’t know, are you over them?”

“I still like getting them and I enjoy opening them, but like, I’m tired of not knowing who is writing them. It’s been almost two weeks and I still don’t know. How long can they drag this out for?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re waiting to gauge your reactions on it. Maybe they just want to wait and see how they make you feel.”

“But I’ve shown how they’ve made me feel. I can’t help that I’ve opened most of them at home. If they wanted to know how I felt or looked when I opened them then they should have shoved them in my locker like in all those cheesy movies.”

“Unfortunately, babe, this isn’t a movie, and you’re not 15 anymore.”

Harry sighs, dropping his head back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m impatient.”

Zayn laughs, this breathy noise that sends a chill up Harry’s spine. “I’m sure the big reveal will be sooner rather than later.”

Harry shrugs, tilting his head over to look at Zayn. He wants to say that he’s not sure if he wants to wait, not sure if he’s ready for the reveal, not sure if putting a face to the letters will do anything for him. He’s all conflicted inside, his emotions and thoughts tied up in a giant knot in the back of his mind and his chest. He wants to know but he doesn’t. He wants to tell Zayn that, to see if Zayn can help slowly unravel all the confusing parts inside of him, but there’s something about the way Zayn’s looking at him, something about the way that the lights are shining in Zayn’s eyes, almost like they’re twinkling, something about the way that Zayn’s licking his lips that forces the thoughts back into Harry’s mind, knotting them up a bit more.

And he doesn’t know why he does it, and if there was an instant replay on this moment, it’d turn black and fuzzy in his brain because he’s pressing into Zayn’s space and their lips are touching, moving together ever so slowly.

It’s almost like little clicks going off inside of Harry, this feeling of everything locking up and falling into place because there have times where he’s imagined this. This moment right now, except they were down in the coffee shop and Zayn was leaning over the edge, pressing a paper cup into Harry’s hands and a kiss onto his lips. He’d forgotten about it, distracted by the letters but now…

Now Harry could listen to the sharp intake of Zayn’s breath as Harry’s mouth opens for him forever, could feel the rough texture of Zayn’s lips against his forever, and could do this forever, the kissing. It reminds him of the letter he got that read;  _You have witchcraft in your lips._

And suddenly, it’s like the spell is broken. 

Harry pulls away quickly, shoving Zayn’s shoulders and stumbling off the couch. He runs a hand through his hair, staring down at Zayn, his breath coming in short gasps.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry mumbles because it feels like he shouldn’t be here. It felt right a moment ago but then- He just needs to go. He needs to get out of here. It’s too much. It’s not- Harry can’t do this. Not right now. There are a million things running thought his head, flashes of Shakespeare, images of a blurred out figure looking at him in disappointment and heartbreak, and then Zayn, who’s staring up at him, lips puffy and red, confusion on his face.

Harry grabs his things and flees, rushing out of Zayn’s apartment, down the stairs, out another door and then running down the street, back to the safety of his own home.

♥♥♥

Harry pulls the letter out when he gets home, unsure of what else to do with himself.

_Love is begun by time, And time qualifies the spark and fire of it_

He sighs, tossing it down on the table before he climbs into bed, tugging the blankets over his head. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong with himself, why he’d kiss Zayn and run. He wanted to kiss him, has wanted to for a while now. He just kind of forgot about it when he started getting the notes from his admirer, because those were a tangible thing. Like there was someone out there with feelings for him, and maybe it was just a crush on their end, much like the one he had on the unreachable barista at his favorite coffee shop.

Harry doesn’t know what it is.

It feels like he’s tied on each side of his body, one side is pulling him towards the letters, reminding him that there is someone out there with feelings for him. And he might not know who it is, but they’re there, and it’s worth a chance to see where the notes could take him.

But then the other side of him is pulling him towards Zayn, an actual person that’s in Harry’s life, not someone that’s hiding behind a sheet of paper and Shakespeare. He still doesn't know Zayn entirely, but he’s gotten to know him a little bit more these past few days and he likes him, he really does. But…

It’s not easy and Harry feels torn, almost stupidly so.

♥♥♥

Harry feels ill. Not physically—well, a little bit physically. His stomach kind of hurts and his head is pounding. He didn’t get a cup of coffee this morning; he’s suffering from caffeine withdrawals. He just couldn’t see Zayn this morning, because then he’d have to give Zayn an explanation. And what kind of explanation is ‘I’m sorry that I stopped kissing you, I kind of am holding out for my secret admirer.’ It’s not a good one, Harry will tell you that much.

So without his coffee and feeling like absolute shit for what he did to Zayn, Harry’s a little bit grumpy today. He threw his bag down on the ground by the front door and then stomped into the living room, grabbing one of their duvets, wrapping it around himself before he stole the remote from Niall and turned on a movie. When Niall complained, Harry glared at him and stuck his tongue out at him like a child, because he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Halfway through the movie though, about forty-five minutes of Niall running his fingers through Harry’s hair in an effort to calm him down, does Niall turn to him and say, “Did you get another letter today?”

Harry sniffs, turning his nose up. “I didn’t check.”

“Don’t you want to find out?”

Harry shrugs and Niall sighs, removing his fingers from Harry’s hair and getting up off the couch to retrieve Harry’s bag. He mumbles something from across the room and Harry assumes that he finds the envelope tucked between two of his books… So he might have already checked to see if he had one today. Niall doesn’t need to know that.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

Harry doesn’t answer but he does mute the television, which is all the invitation that Niall needs.

_All days are nights to see till I see thee,  
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me._

“Hmm, what do you think that means?” Niall asks, dropping the paper down at Harry’s feet on the table.

“I don’t know,” Harry grumbles, wrapping the blanket around his body a little tighter, cocooning himself away.

“It sounds like whoever this guy is; he doesn't like it when he doesn’t get to see you. It makes him sad, I bet.”

Harry glares, turning to look at Niall. “Didn’t you accuse Shakespeare of not speaking English?”

Niall laughs, dropping back down on the couch next to Harry. “Aren’t you the one who said interpretations vary depending upon the person? That’s my interpretation.”

“How lovely,” Harry mutters, giving Niall his best fake smile before he turns back to the television. He’s going to watch Meg Ryan fall in love and he’s not going to listen to any more nonsense about Shakespeare, at least not today. Not after it ruined a perfectly good kiss with a perfectly perfect barista.

♥♥♥

“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Harry mutters, staring down at the paper in his hand before he takes off, wanting to find Niall. As he’s coming out of his bedroom he trips over his bag, falling down to the ground with a loud thud. “Fuck. Niall,” he calls, rolling over onto his back. He’s just going to lie here; it’ll make everything easier. “Niall, can you come here, please. Niall!”

Harry huffs and stares up at his ceiling, wondering what he’s going to do with his life now. He had been waiting for this, wanting it since he figured out the letters were for him and not just some mistaken case of bag identity, to meet whoever was behind them. And now it was going to happen, on Valentine’s Day of all days. It’s a little bit cheesy, to say the least, for his secret admirer to choose his or her or their big reveal on Valentine’s Day. Harry has nothing, if he wants to escape, if whoever it is turns out to be some crazed lunatic like Louis imagines him to be. He should probably look up the address, figure out where it is exactly and find an exit strategy, an escape route.

Harry hears keys in the door and turns in time to see Niall walking in with Louis and Liam behind him.

“I’ve been yelling your name,” Harry tells him, rolling onto his side. He’s not going to get up. It’s much better that he stay on the floor.

“I haven’t been home,” Niall says.

“Why are you on the ground?” Louis asks, because no one else was going to, so it’s obvious that someone should.

Harry thinks that he should start at the beginning. “I got my letter today.”

“Your love letter?” Liam says, sliding down on the floor next to Harry. At least he’s being helpful.

“Yeah. And I read it and kind of panicked, then decided I was going to storm into Niall’s room, only I tripped, so now I’m contemplating life.”

“Why would getting a letter freak you out? I thought you liked them,” Liam says in a tone that Harry knows is trying too hard to be soothing and understanding. Harry just sighs and shoves the piece of paper in his hand. Liam stares down at him and then at the paper for a moment before he reads,

_A heart to love, and in that heart,  
Courage, to make's love known_

“Is this an address?” Liam says, not reading that bit out loud.

“The creep wants to meet you?” Louis shouts from the other room, storming back to glare at Harry, hands on his hips. “What’s the address?” Liam reads it off and Louis whistles under his breath. “Well whoever it is, is going to properly wine and dine you before they kill you.”

“No one is going to kill him,” Niall sighs, shaking his head. “He’d be dead by now if they were; no one waits until Valentine’s Day to kill someone.”

Right, because that’s logic, Harry thinks, draping an arm over his eyes. He’s beginning to get a headache.

“Do you not want to meet him?” Liam asks quietly, while Niall and Louis argue about the statistics of Valentine’s Day, like either of them are an expert. “Is that why you’re freaking out?”

“No, I’m freaking out because that’s what I thought I wanted. I thought that I wanted to meet this person, whoever is behind the letters, but it’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Niall interjects, turning away from Louis. “You’re going to a crowded, public place. Obviously whoever it is strategically chose this place because-”

“It’s Henry’s,” Louis cuts in. “He’s taking you to Henry’s.”

“Well fuck,” Niall mutters, nodding like he’s impressed. “You’re going now. That place is shit expensive and I’ll be damned if you’re missing a meal like that. Hell, if you’re not going then I’m going and pretending to be you.”

“Liam and I could go. We could spy on you, make sure you’re safe.” Louis nods, excited, like he’s just come up with the world’s best plan, like he actually cares about looking out for Harry and not just getting Liam to pay for an expensive meal.

“We already have reservations.”

“Well, cancel them. Wherever you’re taking me is definitely not as nice as Henry’s.”

“It’s perfectly nice, you picked it out.”

Harry sighs loudly, reminding them of his presence. He’s the one with the crisis. He deserves the attention. “Not to distract from that very important fight, but I have a secret admirer that’s about to not be a secret.”

“Well, boohoo for you,” Niall mumbles under his breath. “Harry, you don’t owe this guy shit, so whatever you want to do, then do it. But if you’re mostly nervous that you won’t like him, then that’s not really fair, and you should at least give him a chance.”

Louis nods his head in agreement. “He does make a fair point. Don’t be afraid to stand him up if you really don’t want to meet him.”

Harry sighs again and rolls over onto his side, tossing his arm over Liam’s legs so he’s cuddled up to his knees. It’s a hard decision to make, but whoever is writing these letters, they’ve made him feel something, and they ruined his kiss with Zayn, so maybe he should give it a shot?

♥♥♥

Harry’s hands shake as he steps out of his car. He slams the door shut and then brushes off his suit, the black one with pink stripes that really, he bought because he thought it would make him look cool, but now it seems like the perfect outfit to wear to a Valentine’s Day date.

It’s a short walk from the parking lot to the entrance; the wind cuts through him, seeping in through the woven threads of his suit and it keeps him centered. He feels like it’s holding him down on Earth and reminding him that he’s going to be fine and that his secret admirer, whoever it may be, isn’t a creep like Louis predicted. His secret admirer is going to be-

“Zayn?” Harry calls, frowning, because standing at the top of the steps leading towards the entrance of the restaurant is Zayn. He’s wearing a black suit and holding a bouquet of flowers. He’s looking at them, deep in thought and muttering something under his breath; it sounds encouraging whatever it is. He must not have heard Harry because he hasn’t looked up, still staring down at the flowers. He looks great. “What are you doing here?” Harry asks, tapping Zayn on the shoulder, watching as he jumps, nearly dropping the flowers.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Zayn says, starry eyed.

“I was going to spend today with Niall, but then my admirer asked me to meet them here. I didn’t know what to do but I am curious, so I thought that I’d show up. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to know if it’s them or not,” Harry rambles, biting his lip. Maybe he should have worn a suit like Zayn, one without pink stripes.

“You really haven’t figured it out?” Zayn asks, the starry eyed look replaced with one of confusion.

“Figured out what? Who has been writing those letters? No, that’s why I’m here.”

Zayn sighs, biting down on his lip before he says, “ _A heart to love, and in that heart, Courage, to make's love known.”_

Harry looks at him for a moment, frowning, because that doesn’t sound like something Zayn would say. And it’s not really an explanation. It sounds like something- Harry freezes, mouth dropping open. That’s Shakespeare. That’s something Shakespeare would say or write, whatever. And that’s something his- but that would mean- oh god.

“You wrote them,” Harry breathes out, eyes going wide. “What? How? What?”

“These are for you,” Zayn mumbles, passing the flowers over towards Harry. “My mom always said that you should bring something on the first date, that is if you want to make a good first impression.”

“It’s really you?” Zayn nods, biting down on his lip again, pulling at the hem of his jacket, like he’s unsure of what to do with his hands now that Harry has the flowers. “I don’t understand how. I mean, how did you get the envelopes in my bag?”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “It wasn’t that hard. I just, you tend to get lost in your schoolwork, and so every time I’d bring you a drink, a cookie or that cupcake on your birthday, I’d slip it into your bag when your eyes were on that.”

“But that wasn’t every day.”

“Right.” Zayn nods, raking his fingers through his hair. “Your roommate took care of the days that I couldn’t get to you.”

“Niall? Niall Horan helped you put love letters in my bag?”

Zayn blushes, nodding. And there are so many more questions that Harry wants to ask him, like why he’d write Harry these notes instead of just talking to him, because they see each other every day and Harry’s always liked Zayn. He’s always wondered what it would be like to get to know him outside of the coffee shop. He wants to ask him how he got Niall involved, if that was really an assignment that he was working on with the Shakespeare or if he was picking a quote for Harry, and he wants to ask what all those papers in his apartment were for. Was he really working on college apps or were they the paper he wrote Harry’s notes on?

But Harry doesn’t care to answer any of that, because all he can really think about is how he rejected Zayn because he was feeling conflicted about the letters and how he was feeling about Zayn, but he didn’t have a reason to be conflicted, because it was Zayn.

Harry can’t help but smile at the thought and when he does it, the tension in Zayn’s shoulders eases just slightly, so Harry does the only thing he can think of to make him relax further. He throws himself at Zayn, pressing his lips against the other boys, as he wraps his arms around his neck.

He kisses Zayn like he should have before, with no desire to ever stop. He kisses Zayn and hopes that he’s telling him how happy he is about this reveal with the movement of his lips and the flick of his tongue inside Zayn’s mouth.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Harry walks into the coffee shop, a smile on his face when he sees his boyfriend standing behind the counter, apron on and grinning as he pressed a paper cup into an older woman’s hands.

Zayn’s eyes shine when he sees him and Harry’s smile spreads a little more across his face, threatening to split off. He probably looks ridiculous.

“Hello, darling,” Harry sings, draping himself across the counter, watching as Zayn gets to work on his order, already knowing what Harry wants.

“You’re oddly cheerful for someone with a nine o’clock class.”

“It’s because I get to start my day by seeing you,” Harry tells him, batting his eyelashes.

Zayn snorts, pressing down on something so that liquid pours out of a spout and into Harry’s cup. “You’re still not getting this coffee for free.”

“Hey, I haven’t tried that for weeks,” Harry says, offended, because it’s a valid thing to try for when your boyfriend works at a coffee shop.

“I’m not convinced you’ve finished trying,” Zayn says to him, sliding the cup into the cardboard sleeve before he leans against the counter.

Harry grins at him before he leans up to kiss him, content to know that he’s allowed to kiss the barista now, content to know that he’s not torn between two people but instead being happy with one. Zayn pulls away before Harry can deepen the kiss and Harry pouts, taking his cup from Zayn.

“I’ll make it up to you when I get off.”

“How about at lunch?”

“I was going to eat at my place for lunch.”

“That’s so funny,” Harry mutters, dropping his money onto the counter. “I was going to eat at your place for lunch too.”

Zayn hums, nodding. “For lunch?”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. He swallows quickly and adds, “Well, not only for lunch.”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “You’re horrible.”

“I am and I’m also late,” Harry mutters, frowning. He leans forward and quickly kisses Zayn before he takes off. He’s not going to run to class, but a nice brisk walk is just the cardio he needs before he sees Zayn later in the afternoon.

And later, after Harry has taken his seat in class, as he’s grabbing his book out of his bag does a plain white envelope fall out from inside of it. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment before he smiles, his lips curling upwards.

Inside of it, on a crisp sheet of white paper reads,

_When he shall die,_  
_Take him and cut him out in little stars,_  
_And he will make the face of heaven so fine_  
_That all the world will be in love with night_  
_And pay no worship to the garish sun._

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://www.alnimawrites.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me about this or anything :).


End file.
